


Closing

by gryffindorJ



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:52:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindorJ/pseuds/gryffindorJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco won't ever give up. Won't give up on making his fortune back, his ownership of the now deserted Malfoy Manor and certainly won't give up on trying to stop Potter from selling Grimmauld Place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mystkyten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystkyten/gifts).



> **Trope: Down & Out Draco**
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: Thank you beta and mods!

Draco rounded the corner and immediately regretted not bringing his fags. When he'd left the flat he'd told himself that today he would quit, but like every other time, he regretted the decision within hours. He should give up and smoke as much as his lungs and heart could take. There was no point in trying to live a long life. Besides, if he did quit he'd stroke out before he was forty without the beautiful calming effects of nicotine pumping through his veins. 

Seeing the ambling group of agents gathered on the pavement made Draco's pulse spike already. He hated being part of this crowd; it made him feel dirty and like there would be a knife in his back at any moment. He buttoned his jacket and firmed his expression so he looked stronger as he stepped towards them. 

"Catherine, lovely to see you," Draco said with a winning smile. It was a game Draco had to play. Willingly touching someone and allowing them to touch him in return repulsed Draco to his very core, but it was part of the game and he could smile through it better than anyone. Had he known buying, selling, and bullshitting required so much touching, he might have considered a career in potions brewing like his mother suggested. A solitary job was seductive enough but not nearly as sexy as putting his skills up against another's day after day. Draco – though risk adverse in many other ways – liked gambling, probably because winning had a taste even better than Draco's favourite brandy. 

Draco leaned in to kiss Catherine on the cheek, her perfume wrapping around him like a cloak, making his throat constrict as if it were being squeezed by a noose. Her cheek was soft but slack under his lips. Despite a very expensive glamour, it was a tough job to hide how old she was. Her claw-like, and liver-spotted hand clasped his tightly. The face may have said fifty-five but the hands showed the truth of well past seventy. "Draco, how are you?" she said, still holding Draco's hand. 

"Well enough, but we'll see after the listing," Draco said as he touched her elbow with his free hand. 

In this crowd Catherine was not exactly the matriarch, but if you didn't pay her due you might as well close up shop as you would never sell so much as a lean-to. Old she might be, but she was extremely well connected, and you didn't spend over fifty years selling homes without garnering knowledge of all the dirty laundry people tried to hide. 

Released from Catherine's grip, Draco turned to say hello to the other agents. He had a well honed technique of patting people on the shoulder then sliding his hand down to their elbow as he looked them in the eye and said hello. With women, he would then pull them in and kiss them on the cheek. With men, he would touch their elbow and then shake their hand firmly enough that they knew while he may be friendly, he wasn't to be fucked with. 

It was an odd job and a weird crowd Draco found himself in. These were his competitors but also his coworkers. A friendly relationship with each of them was vital. They needed each other to buy and sell, to live. But they would slash each other's throats in seconds if there were a listing they both wanted. 

There were, naturally, the agents who wouldn't greet Draco. Hanks in his cheap suits who hated Draco for getting a better offer on 678 Meyers, and as far as Draco was concerned he could keep hating him. There were also agents like Morgan; Draco would rather eat his own liver than work with her ever again. 

He appraised her blond hair swept up into a bun and her very red lipstick with a cool gaze. She turned, making eye contact with him. Draco ran his hand across his smooth brilliant hair silently telling her his colour was all real, not from a bottle like hers. Her eyes narrowed and Draco looked away. He didn't have time for that fucking bitch. 

A ripple of excitement went through the crowd and Draco turned to see Mark Hill walking out of the square to meet them. Draco hated Mark, not because he had tried to fuck Draco, but rather because he hadn't. The man was tall, self-assured and at least a decade older and in Draco's opinion, objectively attractive. The fact that he was one of the most successful estate agents out there made Draco find him that much more attractive. His wavy middling brown hair, very blue eyes and easy charm had sold more properties than Draco could dream of and dropped more knickers than Draco cared to think about. Draco did mean knickers, not pants. Hill was as straight as he was handsome. 

Draco tried not to over think the psychology of what it meant that he wanted a man who was completely unavailable to him. Draco knew nothing could or would ever happen with Hill. There was safety in that. 

"Ladies, gents," Hill said with a smile and his soft Scottish accent. Given all of his charms, Draco tended to forget that Hill was Scottish. Draco could never be with a Scotsman. They were all so very Scottish. "Sorry about the unconventional open house, but when you see this place you will realise that even by magical standards it's rather unique. Follow me." 

They stepped into the square, and though it was derelict and in the wrong part of London Draco did not let that faze him. This was a wizarding listing and for all he knew a glorious chateau could be hidden in there somewhere. 

The house came into view and the group moved towards the front steps. It definitely wasn't a chateau, but that wasn't why Draco felt a sudden chill as the serpent's head door-knocker on the half-open door caught his eye. 

"Keep an open mind," Hill said, standing on the first step, "as you look through Number Twelve Grimmauld Place." 

Draco didn't need the address announced; he knew what this place was. Now not only was Draco regretting not bringing his fags but he was regretting he hadn't worn his best suit. This was Potter's house. 

Hill stood by the bottom step and ushered everyone up one at a time. As Draco reached the steps he thought he was going to be sick, but he said to Hill, "You bastard, I know who's selling this house." 

Hill grinned, and despite his dread, the smile made Draco feel light for a moment. "Harry, you mean? Why, we're old friends." 

Draco snorted a laugh and said, "Liar." 

Hill laughed and clapped Draco on the shoulder, "We're all full of shit, aren't we, Malfoy?" 

"It's my greatest virtue," Draco said and moved up the stairs. 

The hall was horribly lit and Draco couldn't make out more than vague, shadowy shapes as he stepped into it.

The first thing he saw as everything slowly came into focus was the world's most hideous troll's leg umbrella stand. It was fortunate that the stand was there as Draco felt like he was going to be sick and that would be a tidy place to do it. The house smelled mostly dank with the distinct tinge of being long uninhabited, but Draco could swear he scented Potter. He was sure the next thing he would see as his eyes adjusted was Potter standing there like he owned the place. Which he bloody well did. 

But as everything slowly came into focus there was no Potter, Draco's senses returned and reminded him that owners never attended these sorts of things. Not that Draco would let his guard down completely. Potter would relish an opportunity to ambush him. 

Slowly Draco began to take everything in and he was grateful he hadn't worn his best suit. He liked the suit he was wearing, even though he'd found it used and had wheedled his mother's tailor mercilessly until he made it look new again, but it wasn't one of his best suits. Draco only owned three truly good suits and two good pairs of dress robes. He bought himself clothes only when he made a particularly good deal. He wanted to buy himself all the clothes he needed, it was imperative to dress for the job, but without mounds of gold at his disposal he couldn't piss away his earnings on pocket squares. With a good eye for what could be worked with and an emphasis on the basics, Draco got by so far. When he grew tired of black trousers, white shirt, he reminded himself what the goal was and that wardrobes bursting with garments would not always exceed his grasp. 

The square had only been a harbinger of things to come. There were singe marks on the wall and an unexplained curtain rod. To say the runner in the hall was threadbare would have been a compliment. Draco was certain with every step he took that it would disintegrate under his feet. He stepped into the dining room with the rest of the agents, which was somewhat better but not much. 

The furniture was in good condition but that was all. Draco still felt as if he were getting dusty and mouldy simply by standing in the place even though it appeared clean. The last agent joined the group and Hill stepped into the room. "Welcome. What we have here is a forty nine hundred square foot, seven bedroom town house. While it may need a bit of a polish, as we take a look around you will see it's quite a deal." 

Hill hadn't been wrong; he was indeed full of shit. Grimmauld Place needed more than some elbow grease, from what Draco could tell, and given the mutterings and hushed comments, the feeling was mutual amongst the agents.

They toured the upper floors, each room as pathetic as the next. They walked into one of the bedrooms and something caught Draco's nose and he couldn't help but say something. "Do I smell dog?" He wrinkled his nose and inhaled slowly. Yes, it did smell like an animal in here. 

"Of course you smell dog. Look at that," Catherine said, flicking her fingers towards the wall. 

Draco craned his neck to see what it was. His lips felt numb as he said without volition, "A dog didn't do that." A dog had claws but not like that. Draco knew of only one creature that could make gouges in wood paneling like that. He began to feel dizzy and unlike himself. He was suddenly back in his bedroom at the Manor, except that room was no longer his. 

He had loved his room. His mother had redone it the first year he was away at Hogwarts. He'd arrived home and his mother had led him with all the giddy excitement Narcissa Malfoy would ever show. She opened the door, announcing it was a young man's room now. Gone was the pale blue of his childhood. She had transformed it with navies and dark wooden trim. At first he was heartbroken. His things, all of his possessions he had left safely at home, what happened to them? But then his mother had shown him the corridor leading to his bathroom. It was nothing but wardrobes, and gently tucked away inside was every toy, every stuffed animal, every Merlin adventure book he had loved only four months before. He loved his mother for doing that. For allowing him the privacy to still love those things and never give them up. 

And then the Dark Lord had allowed that man, that monstrosity in his room. Allowed him to stay in there. To take his prey in there. His home taken over was bad enough, but his _room_. His wardrobes ripped open, the gouges in the walls, they were exactly the same. It was as if Draco was standing in the threshold, taking in the carnage once again. Pages ripped from his books, the stuffing and bodies of his once loved stuffed animals strewn about along with his clothes. It smelled like animal and spunk. Draco no longer smelled dog but he smelled Greyback's come all over his room. Not allowed to touch Draco – Narcissa would kill him – he had done the next best thing. Shown he could still violate Draco, because it was the boys he couldn't have that he craved the most. 

Draco forced his head down and touched his wand in his pocket, casting a silent cooling charm on himself as sweat broke out all over his body. He stared at the rug. It was faded and ruined beyond repair but Draco could see it had once been made of fine golds and yellows. That was not his rug. His rug had golds, yes, and it too was an antique, but his was a distinct Egyptian scene. 

This wasn't his room, this wasn't the Manor, he reminded himself. He quietly stepped out of the bedroom and almost choked on a hysterical laugh. The Manor had its demons but this house was a dump by comparison. Before closing the house, his mother had restored it to its once beautiful pristine grandeur. The horrors were hidden under fresh coats of paint and new rugs. No one would ever look at the house and know what had happened there. Draco didn't need to look, though. It was all still quite alive in his mind. 

"And if we go downstairs," Hill said as he walked from the room, and Draco did his best to sink back into the group, keeping his eyes averted and taking deep, quiet breaths as he tried to slow the hammering in his chest. 

Hill saved the drawing room for last and Draco could see why. It was the one room that still retained the sense of nobility that the house once had. 

And then Draco saw it, the bright golden thread having drawn his gaze to it; the family tapestry. He knew the Malfoy one by heart and could recite it in its entirety. This one he had never seen and had only heard about. He looked instinctively down to where his name would be. Isn't that what everyone did when they saw a family tree? Look for yourself first. He was too far away to see it but he knew he was there. 

A wash of hot anger suddenly filled his insides. This was a family home not to be tossed away to a stranger who had dreams of restoration, which were sure to be tacky, and a bottomless vault to fund it all. 

This was Potter's house only in legal terms; the meaning of family would be lost on him. It had been gained by Draco's "cousin's" last betrayal of their blood. It disgusted Draco. His stomach felt awash with acid and spurred on by indignation. Draco turned and left without a word. He couldn't stand there and watch Hill's song and dance to sell an heirloom as if it were fit for nothing but a jumble sale. 

As his feet hit the pavement, he was desperate more than ever for a fag, but only when he had reached a secluded alley did he remember it was Tuesday and the cleaning service came to the flat on Tuesdays. As the owner didn't smoke, the maid would throw away the pack Draco left sitting on the bedroom table, assuming someone viewing the flat had left them. 

Draco's hands scrambled all over his body, into every pocket, desperate to find some Muggle money so that he could go to the nearest newsagent for a pack. He didn't give a damn that Muggle tobacco was shit, he'd take anything he could get. 

"Fuck!" Draco yelled, startling a group of meandering pigeons as his breast pocket came up completely empty.

&&&&&&&

For this Draco wore his best suit. Navy blue worsted wool, two button jacket, with a centre vent in the back. He paired it with a light blue shirt and a tie so red that he thought it possibly unsuitable for meeting a Weasley – it might match their hair perfectly and that was something he didn't want to know. He liked this tie and didn't want it spoiled. Before leaving the new house he had carefully folded his lucky white and blue handkerchief and placed it in his pocket.

Draco didn't need a mirror to know he looked good. He always looked good when he wore this suit. It displayed command and confidence, even if he didn't currently feel that way on the inside. Not for the first time since making the appointment, Draco thought about bolting. 

He put his feet flat on the ground and rested his hands firmly on the top of his knees to keep the nervous jiggle out of them. Panic started to rise up in him, urging him towards cowardice. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself anywhere else, but all he could think of was that it was just like Potter to have an office in a Muggle building. He couldn't have a respectable office in Diagon Alley or somewhere similar; he had to show the world that he was Harry Potter and he could have an office wherever he damned well pleased. 

Draco could imagine that Potter had figured out he was coming and thus made sure that Draco had nothing but a hard-backed plastic chair to sit in and a very bad copy of a notable painting of a Muggle sea battle to look at. But Potter wasn't that clever; there was no way he knew it was Draco coming. Draco, of course, didn't use his own name when making an appointment with Potter. Still, Potter would do anything to annoy him in the hopes that one day he could get under Draco's skin even the slightest touch more. 

Draco huffed to himself and opened his eyes. Instead of nerves, now he felt nothing but anger, and that calmed him. Anger he could use. 

The only nice part about the office space was that the floors weren't carpeted and Draco could hear someone coming down the corridor to get him. He listened intently, and as Potter rounded the corner Draco had timed standing from the chair and buttoning his jacket to perfection. He wasn't expecting the man himself and it gave him an absurd amount of smug satisfaction to look so collected as Potter's face dropped into an expression best described as gobsmacked. It was only for a second, but Draco caught it before Potter quickly covered the expression. 

"I wasn't expecting to see you," Potter said, folding his arms and staring, hard, at Draco.

"I did make an appointment," Draco replied. 

"My secretary is out today and I haven't figured out that voicemail thingy yet." 

"Voicemail?" Draco asked. "What the bloody hell is that? I talked to her last week." 

Potter's brow wrinkled and he said, "Is that so? You made an appointment and managed to keep it?" 

Draco felt his nostrils flair as he inhaled sharply at the dig, but he wasn't going to bite. He didn't want to get in a pissing match with Potter. Not now. "Can't we go to your office instead of milling around here? The sheer tackiness of this place is shredding my soul." Draco wrinkled his nose and gestured from the faux-wood reception desk to the foul chairs. 

Potter turned to walk down the corridor, muttering, "Always so god-damned prissy," loud enough for Draco to hear. 

Draco followed Potter and had to resist the urge to tell Potter that he might be prissy but at least he knew how to be professional. Potter was wearing a nice enough jumper but he had on ratty jeans that were so worn that there was a small hole by the corner of one of the back pockets. Draco kept his own council on the matter, though, as he was not going to admit to Potter in any way, shape, or form that he was staring at his arse. 

Potter walked straight through the door at the end of the short corridor and Draco felt the shock that Potter felt upon seeing him. The outer office led Draco to expect Potter's office to be as tasteless as the rest. Potter's office not only looked like the office Potter should have, but to Draco's shock it actually had style. 

Potter had wallpaper- real, not cheap, very nice wallpaper at that. More surprising was that it went well with the furniture in not an overly obvious way but in a way that makes a room with all its bits and pieces fit together comfortably. Two tall chairs upholstered in a brown and red print, a white sofa and the wallpaper all worked well – especially in combination with the distressed yellow low table sitting between the furniture; it had a dark wood top that matched Potter's desk perfectly. 

Two well-loved racing brooms hung on a rack above the fireplace, which boasted a fire crackling happily. On the walls hung a few photographs in which Draco didn't recognize any of the people. A large framed map of Hogwarts hung above the sofa – or from what Draco could see, at least Hogwarts as it had been when he and Potter knew it. 

There were two windows behind Potter's desk, which let in the watery London sunlight, and between them hung a framed copy of _The Daily Prophet_. Draco was too far away to see which issue. 

"Granger do this for you?" Draco asked, unable to fathom Potter could pull the room together on his own. 

"Huh? Oh the furniture and stuff?" Potter ran his fingers through the back of his hair and said, "I picked out the chairs. They were the only ones my arse didn't fall asleep in after hours of sitting. You wouldn't believe how much some people love to talk." Potter looked at Draco and his eyes lit with amusement. "Well perhaps you would believe it. But it was mostly my secretary. Hermione wouldn't have the patience."

"It's comforting to know that your secretary is a woman or I might be unaccountably jealous," the words were from Draco's mouth before he could stop himself. That damn Potter. Standing there in his comfortable office with his holey jeans and looking undeniably sexy. And his stupid eyes shining with laughter. It all worked and served to pull Draco in, no matter how unwilling he wanted to be. He was here to eviscerate Potter, not to stand there and wonder if he still smelled of shaving cream and shampoo. Never hair gel or pomade because using such things were not in Potter's scope. A close shave and clean but very unkempt hair were the best you would get from him. 

Potter chortled and said, "Not only is she a woman, I think she's around your mother's age. But very different from your mum." 

"You don't know anything about my mum," Draco snapped. 

Potter's blinked at Draco in surprise and said, "Do you want to sit down? Will this take long? I've another appointment." 

"No, you don't. Your agent is the last appointment of the day. I made sure of that when I used his name to make the appointment." 

"How did you know I have an agent?" 

"Because I am amongst the happy group of agents that got to preview that house you are trying to dump." 

"You sell houses?" Harry said with genuine surprise. "I didn't know that. I might have considered you if I had." 

Draco gave him a withering look. "Shut up, Potter. Don't try to flatter me. You aren't the only one who knows Hill is the best. And with our history I doubt you'd ever care to trust me again." 

Harry sighed heavily. He closed his eyes, pushed up his glasses and scrubbed his face. He then looked at Draco and said, "Are you only here to be rude to me? Or are you going to sit down and tell me why you've graced me with your presence?" 

Draco noticed that Potter didn't motion towards his desk, which from his current vantage Draco could see was rather messy, but towards the seating area. Draco nodded and moved to one of the chairs. He wanted to know if it was as comfortable as Potter had said, and damn it was. "A cup of tea would be nice as well, Potter." 

Potter gave Draco a look that told Draco exactly where he could stick his cup of tea, but said, "Don't call me Potter." 

"I've always called you Potter." 

"You started to call me Harry before." 

Draco remembered that. The first time something other than Potter's surname had slipped from his lips. It had felt liberating and slightly reckless at the time. An assertion that Draco's past would stay with him no longer; Potter could be Harry, could be someone new and different. 

It was difficult to remember those feelings now. Draco wanted freedom, and for that Potter had to stay Potter. "Yes, well, that was before. This is now." 

"I'll get you your cup of tea if you stop calling me Potter." 

"Your tea can't possibly be that good. Best you would give is a bag of Twinings. Sit down, Potter, we need to talk." 

Potter didn't sit in the chair opposite him as Draco had expected, but instead on the sofa and in a spot that was as close to Draco as he could get. He sat forward, his forearms on his knees, and looked Draco up and down discreetly but not discreetly enough that Draco didn't notice. Draco's body took a sudden awareness at the closeness of him. He felt like every hair he had was standing on end, his breath came a littler shorter and his cock wasn't hard but still keenly aware. 

Draco cleared his throat in an effort to control himself and said, "You can't sell Grimmauld Place." 

"Jesus Christ," Potter replied with a huff and slumped to the back of the sofa. "Draco, I don't want to call a lawyer. I hate lawyers. Sirius's will is binding. Kreacher listened to me for Merlin's sake. The house is mine." 

It was Draco's turn to huff and sigh with exasperation; he did so and held his hands up to stop Potter from saying any more. "I know the house is yours. That cretin managed to screw the family even after he was dead." 

Potter didn't get upset at this like Draco half expected he would. He merely smirked and said, "I'm sure he's thrilled you're still upset about it." 

Draco gave Potter a narrow look but continued on. "The house was given to you and you don't sell houses like that." 

"Houses like what? You've seen the house. It's not exactly a hot commodity." 

"You don't understand. That doesn't matter. Obviously it meant something to...to your godfather," Draco had to force the last word out. He had to be politic though. "He left it to you because he obviously cared for you." 

Potter kicked his legs out and onto the table and put his hands behind his head as if this were his living room and they were relaxing for the evening, not the middle of the afternoon in his office. Draco wondered if Potter acted like this in other business meetings. Reclining back and dressed like he was about to go work in the garden. Draco covertly looked Potter up and down. His legs extended in a way that showed they were long and lean, his jumper rode up just enough so that Draco could see his belt but not high enough that he could see a patch of skin. If Draco could do magic with his eyes alone then he'd lift that jumper a touch more so he could see even a hint of Potter's abdomen. 

The thought then quickly occurred to Draco that this was exactly how Potter must act in meetings. It was how he got everyone to shower him with bags of gold all in the good name of restoring Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Showing off his physique, his raven's wing hair, and brilliant eyes. That was, if everyone Potter saw was a gay man, Draco reminded himself. 

It was the confidence he had, that was it. He didn't need a fancy suit to command a room. Draco simultaneously hated Potter for that and wondered at the power Harry would have if he put on even half-way decent dress robes.

"Draco," Potter said. "Let me say it clearly. I don't use the house. Sirius was never a fan of the house. He wouldn't care. So I'm selling it and will use the money elsewhere." 

"Elsewhere meaning Hogwarts?" Draco gestured up at the map above Potter's head, and now on closer inspection it looked like it was moving. That would make sense; the Hogwarts he knew had been a living, breathing entity. 

"So what if I want to put the gold there?" 

"It doesn't need your gold. You have this whole bloody foundation for that," Draco replied as he felt heat washing his face. 

"Is that it?" Harry said, sitting up quickly as if he scented his prey. "That's why you didn't show up to dinner? You think what I'm doing is stupid?" 

Draco was taken aback and could only blink at Potter for a moment. "Dinner? How thick are you? I didn't come to talk about that night and the sure disaster I saved us from." 

"Well I didn't think you would actually come here to bitch at me about a house. I'm confused. One minute you've been released by the Ministry and we're in the loo of some pub with your hand practically in my pants and my tongue down your throat. The next you've stood me up. And now years later you come to my office looking the way you do and you're talking to me about some bloody stupid house of all things." 

"It is not a bloody stupid house!" It was so much better to cling to the discussion about the house than to talk about that one night. "It is a family home. You never get rid of the family home." 

"It is not a family home. It's cold and a bit creepy and hardly liveable." 

"A dump it may be but that is no reason to throw it away, ever. You close up the rooms you don't use. And then you sit around drinking Blue Nun out of your goblin wrought silver and think about how you have an amazing piece of real estate." 

Potter shouted a laugh and said, "You sit around your manor all day drinking Blue Nun and looking at the art on the walls?" 

"I don't live in the Manor," Draco replied curtly. 

"I thought your father...he left it..aren't you the heir?" 

Draco took satisfaction in that Potter was stumbled over his words slightly.

"Of course I'm the heir. My father would never dream of leaving everything to anyone else. Not that there was much left besides the house. But yes, the Manor is mine. I don't occupy it though." 

Potter's back stiffened and his expression went from confusion to sympathy in a snap. Potter may not have known the extent of what happened at the Manor, but he knew and saw enough to make a very good guess. Draco had to look away. He didn't want Potter's sympathy because Potter didn't know about the nightmares, the panic attacks, the feeling of sinking through the floor where you stood to find yourself in your dining room, where you had always eaten Christmas dinner, but now you're watching a snake eat people in the exact same spot where you used to have your turkey. Potter, who would throw away a house so casually, surely had no appreciation for what it meant to have your life and memories destroyed again and again before your eyes. 

Draco prided himself on being able to hide the nastier bits of what he had been through, about his thoughts and feelings. It hurt that Potter had figured out something so deep about him. It also reminded Draco of why he had not allowed himself to meet Potter for dinner. Draco had gone from his father's constant direction, to Voldemort's pawn, to the Ministry's detainee, and he wasn't about to about to fall in with Potter and wake up one day and realize he had never had a life that was his own and that someone knew him better than he knew himself. His inheritance had been frozen and controlled to the point where all he had left was the Manor and oddly enough Draco saw it as his first opportunity to make decisions for himself, and himself alone. 

"If you're not living there, where do you live?" 

Draco could tell Potter was trying to change the subject in a neutral way and he appreciated that, but Potter had failed completely. 

"In London," Draco said casually. It was the truth, for today at least. Last week the answer would have been different. "Where do you live?" 

"Same as you, London. Who knows, we could be neighbours." 

"I'm moving if we are," Draco replied. 

Harry scooted to the edge of the sofa so that his knees nudged Draco's. "You don't need to run away from me again." 

Draco looked at the spot where Potter was touching him and then slowly dragged his gaze up Potter's body till their eyes met. Draco wanted to lunge across the distance between them and let Potter put his tongue down his throat again. "I've had worse offers but there was a reason I didn't show up," Draco said mostly to remind himself he had very sound reasons, even though at the moment they all seemed feeble. 

Potter leaned in closer and Draco looked away as quickly as he could; he couldn't let Potter kiss him. He looked to the map on the wall and realized that the framed map was indeed moving. It looked like an ant hill. Draco stood and walked around the table the long way to get a better look at it. On the map were hundreds of tiny dots moving around. It was fascinating and Draco needed to look even closer. He kneeled as far as he could on the couch so that his thighs were pressed up to the back of it and saw all the dots had names. 

Most of the names he didn't recognize, but he saw a name here or there – McLaggen, Greengrass, Smith, Gibbon – and then there were parts of Hogwarts he knew had once existed but were now gone, destroyed. Yet there they were on the map, though no dots were moving in those areas. 

"What is this?" Draco said, unable to keep the wonder out of his voice. Potter turned on the couch and kneeled next to Draco. "It's a family heirloom." Draco gave Potter a look that made Potter laugh low and deep. "Well it is," Potter said lightly. "It's obviously a map of Hogwarts. Well, the old Hogwarts. It was made by my...my family, and it was given to me." 

"When did you get it?" Draco returned his gaze to the map. 

"My third year." 

"You wanker," Draco said and pointed to the map, careful not to get his finger prints on the glass. "It shows everything. No wonder you could sneak out of the school." 

"Brilliant. I know." Draco could hear the grin in Potter's voice. "It's charmed so it can look like a bit of parchment but when I started this I brought it here and kept it as it is. There are anti-theft charms on it. No one can touch it but me. See? Look." Potter put his hand on the frame. "Now you try." 

Draco rolled his eyes but did as he was told. He moved his hand closer but it was as if an invisible force was keeping him from making contact. "You are a wonder," Draco said, putting his hand down. "You charm a map that isn't even accurate anymore, but I bet I could walk out with those two racing brooms right now if I wanted." 

"I know what I value," Potter replied. "If you want the brooms you can have them. The map is mine. It reminds me why I'm here." 

"I thought you were here so people could throw money at you." To Draco's surprise Potter was not visibly offended by the comment. He merely shrugged. 

"You could see it like that. I'm sure you're not the only one who does." Draco wanted to quickly say he really didn't but Potter continued on. "It's not easy rebuilding Hogwarts. I've been at this for, what? Five years? And it's still not done. The magic isn't only ancient but it was damaged by dark magic and it'll take more than a bit of wand waving when working against those things. When I have to go to another bloody function or the reconstructions moves at a grinding pace, I remember how much I loved it there. Remember how much other people before me loved it there. I want more kids to love it like I did." 

"I used to love it there," Draco said, recalling with absurd ease the feeling of belonging he'd had the first time he walked into his dormitory. It had felt like the overwhelming joy of returning to the arms of an old friend you'd hadn't realized you'd lost.

"When did you stop?" 

"Later. When it got...you already know all that, Potter." Draco swallowed hard and Potter put his hand on his shoulder. Draco turned to look at him and suddenly his heart was in his throat. Desire for Potter filled every bit of Draco's body and he could no longer resist. As their eyes met again, it was with perfect understanding. They knew and understood things about Hogwarts, about the end, about those last two years that no one could ever know they knew. 

Before Draco's thoughts had time to process he was leaning towards Potter, who was leaning towards him. They were kissing, slowly and tenderly. Potter's tongue wasn't down his throat, which would have ruined the moment, but it was soft on Draco's lips, gently probing them open. Draco inhaled sharply and kissed Potter deeper. Only as Potter's hand ran across the back of Draco's neck and gently cradled Draco's head did his thoughts catch up with him. 

What in the bloody hell was he doing? He wasn't going to let Potter snog him into submission. First Potter needed to realize his mistake and take the house off the market, then, maybe, they could snog. 

Draco pulled away and glared at Potter who looked dumbstruck. Draco scrambled off the couch and stood with as much dignity as he could muster with his face hot and his cock half hard. 

"I didn't think this would be that difficult. It's wasting our time," Draco said. 

"You're not wasting my time," Potter said as he straightened his glasses and stepped towards Draco. Draco moved swiftly away. 

"Yes, I am," Draco said, moving closer to the door. "You obviously have no understanding of what you're actually doing, and I don't have the patience to explain it to you." Now that they had less proximity, it was easier for Draco to recall he didn't want to kiss Potter –all that much. 

"What?" Potter replied. 

"Grimmauld Place. You're an orphan so you can't even begin to understand. Your parents' home, everyone knows it was destroyed, so all you ever had was what I am told is a very handsome vault. You're incapable of seeing the value of home." 

"Have you lost your mind?"

"What did I say? I think I was quite clear." Draco was hovering in the doorway now, desperate to get away from Potter, as he was beginning to look rather upset.

"You were clear. No one gives a shit about Grimmauld Place –" 

"That doesn't matter! You are supposed to keep it no matter what, or haven't you been listening?" 

"Is that why you keep the Manor? Doesn't matter how many people died there, how much blood is soaked into the floorboards, that house is yours and they can pry it from your cold dead hands?" 

"No understanding of true value, no family –" 

"Stop saying I haven't got a family! I get it. They're dead! Whereas your family is something to be proud of?" 

"You fucking bastard. Don't you even dare to go down that road." Draco turned and hurried from the office as quickly as he could.

&&&&&&&

Of course Potter would live in a Muggle building in Chelsea. Potter would have no idea what it meant to live in Chelsea. Draco wasn't sure whether to envy Potter for being able to spend money without truly thinking about it or to hate him for not knowing what he had. Potter understood his power well enough to know he could raise money for a "good cause", but beyond that Draco didn't think Potter would ever truly understand.

For Draco, everything about Potter had two halves in the whole. Hate mixed with grudging admiration. Draco hated that Potter was selling Grimmauld Place but admired Potter for being able to cut ties so effortlessly with his inheritance. Draco would never set foot in the Manor again, yet his ownership of it was vital to his sense of self. His name was worthless, his vaults restricted, his portfolio and properties gone. The Manor was the last reminder of the noble birth to which he had been born. If he didn't have a family home, then he truly had nothing at all. 

Draco would have popped his clogs had Potter lived in a building with a doorman, but to Draco's surprise the front door of Potter's flat did not require him to ring any sort of bell and be buzzed in. He didn't think even Potter would choose to live in a place where people could come and go as if it were a tube station. 

He didn't want to do this. Didn't want to go back to Potter again, but he could not let the house be sold in this way. He got to the first floor and saw Potter's door to his right. He wasn't turning back; this was his last shot at it. 

As he knocked he heard the scrape of chair legs inside the flat and Potter's footfalls coming to him. Potter swung open the door and to Draco's delight he saw he had surprised Potter once more. 

"Americans," Draco said taking the second's advantage he had on Potter to speak first. "You're selling the house to a bunch of loud, obnoxious, Americans. They'll have absolutely no sense of history and the importance of that house."

"Come in, Draco," Potter said with a heavy sigh. 

Draco quickly took in the flat – Draco could have taken in the flat slowly and that still only would've taken seconds. There wasn't a big enough word to describe how he felt about it, so all he could manage to say was, "You bought a bedsit?" 

"It's a studio," Potter replied, shutting the door and walking around Draco to the tiny counter with only space enough for one stool. He sat down and pulled a half-eaten bowl of cold cereal towards him. 

Draco snorted. "Right. Studio is a word people like me use with people like you to make you believe it's not a bedsit."

"I don't own it. It's only a lease." Potter dipped his spoon into his bowl and took a large bite, thankfully without slurping.

Draco eyes closed as he thought of the words to explain this to someone like Harry. "Potter, a man in your position does not rent, especially not a studio, as you say." 

Potter swallowed his mouth full of food and said, "What? I've got everything I need." Potter waved his hand indicating objects set about the minute space. "My bed is there, I can see the telly perfectly from it. I have a small cooker, a counter, fridge, and a bathroom. Why the hell would I pay for anything else? And the view is great." 

Draco moved to the large bay window at the front of the flat – bedsit – and looked out on the charming little tree-lined street. The buildings were all well-kept with the occasional terrace garden peeking out here and there. Down at the end of the street Draco could make out a square with small shops. Draco would bet all of the money in his pocket – which was a Galleon and two silver Sickles, but Draco was still willing to risk it all – that every proprietor of those shops knew Harry's name and liked him. 

"I will give you that," Draco said, turning from the window.

"So," Potter said, dragging his spoon along the side of the bowl and pushing stray flakes back into the milk. "You've heard I've had an offer." 

"A low-ball laugh is what it is." 

"From some gauche Americans." Potter did not take care to hide that he was clearly amused by the entire situation.

"I did not call them gauche." Potter looked up from his cereal and gave Draco a pointed look, his brows perfectly arched. "Don't put words in my mouth." 

"Sorry." He looked down at his bowl, swirling the flakes into another spoonful. "You don't want the house going to them, you’d rather I, who knows nothing about family because I don't have any, kept hold of it." 

"Jesus," Draco said crossing his arms. "Don't be so melodramatic, Potter." 

"You said it and you know you did, so don't try and tell me I misunderstood your meaning. I think we were both clear." 

"We were. I remember you saying something about my family." Potter met Draco's icy stare by setting his expression in the most stubborn one Draco had ever seen. 

Draco felt his jaw clench in frustration. Everyone knew Potter hated his aunt and uncle who raised him, and you couldn't appreciate a home if you never had one. Draco's family was a lot of things but he didn't hate them. Maybe Aunt Bellatrix, but his feelings for her could not be surmised by hate alone. Potter was upset and clearly Draco would get nowhere if Potter wanted to be a wounded animal.

"I am sorry I reminded you that you were an orphan," Draco bit out. 

"Let’s not talk about our families, or lack of. I don't see it going well."

"Nice work avoiding an apology." 

Potter smiled at his own triumph, putting his spoon to the side, and lifted the bowl to drink the milk from it. Draco loved the sugary milk left at the end of a bowl of cereal and watched with fascination and envy as Potter's throat bobbed as he swallowed every last drop. Not exactly the most polite thing to do in company, but Draco wasn't about to complain as Potter put the bowl down and wiped a stray, shiny white drop of milk from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. 

"Potter...I," The words sounded wrong in Draco's head. He didn't want to grovel to Potter but yet he felt he had to give something. The internal Draco was waging made the words burst from his lips. "Jesus Christ! Shouldn't Harry Fucking Potter be the bigger man or something? Why do I have to say I'm sorry and you don't?" 

"Because I'm Harry Fucking Potter." 

"Oh shut it," Draco said, petulantly crossing his arms. "I'm sorry, Harry, all right?" 

Potter's stool scraped against the floor as he stood. As he walked to the sink to put his bowl in it, he said, "You've dropped the surname, so that's a start." 

Potter...Harry walked casually over to his bed and flopped down on it. "I'm sorry I brought up your family, Draco. I know it's a sensitive subject. Now," Potter said reclining back onto his elbows, "Why can't I accept this offer?" 

"It's not a very good one, but you know that. Field would've told you so." 

"He did. So you're here to back up his opinion?"

"I'm here because I have an idea. Take the house off the market and make it your office." 

"I already have an office." 

"And how much rent are you paying on that place? You own Grimmauld Place. You can redo the ground floor, that's all. Don't worry about the other floors until later, if at all. You'll save loads." 

"I like my office quite a bit now. I hate moving and changing everything," Harry replied. 

Draco shook his head and said, "I see you don't have a frugal side to appeal to." 

"Sure I do. Look at my flat." 

"It's in Chelsea." 

"So?" 

"This is one of the most expensive areas to live in London. For what you pay here you could own a lovely home in a village somewhere and Apparate to work every day." 

"I hadn't thought too much about that. I just wanted to be able to walk to my office." 

"That's a long walk," Draco observed. 

"I like the exercise," Potter said with a shrug. 

Draco growled in exasperation. "Why are you being so bloody stubborn?" 

"Because it makes you do things like come around my office and my flat." Harry voice was innocent but his expression was not. Draco felt his face heat. "Here," Potter said sitting up. "Sit down and explain to me all of my options with Grimmauld Place other than selling it." Potter patted the bed next to him. Draco looked pointedly at the spot. He didn't want to sit with Potter on a bed, of all places, because he didn't trust himself. Draco moved his gaze to the stool and he didn't want to sit there either. Telling himself he was stronger than Potter's thick black eyelashes, broad shoulders, long limbs, and sexy smirk, Draco moved to the bed. 

"You've no interest in living there?" Draco said, looking at Potter and noticing the smudges on the bottom of his lenses. 

"Not really. It's far too big." 

"Renting it out?" 

"Who could afford the rent? Might as well buy, right?" 

Draco moved his head somewhere between a shake and a nod. "Not exactly. Rich businessmen in the country for a set period. They would prefer a home not a hotel sometimes." 

"But I'd have to refurbish it first," Potter pointed out. "How long would that take?" 

"Couple years I would imagine. Though you could seal off the top floor or two. Do those when you have the time." 

"And the cost?" 

"Exorbitant. But you have the gold." 

Harry agreed with a shrug. "Doesn't mean I want to spend it." 

"Why? Does Hogwarts need more of your money?" Draco asked, raising one brow. 

"Needs money yes. But it doesn't have to be mine." 

Here they were back on the subject of Hogwarts and the look in Harry's eyes had changed. It was something he enjoyed talking about. His work with the school. "I'm sorry it was...destroyed." 

"It wasn't your fault," Harry replied, reaching out and placing his hand on Draco's. "It was another causality. Like you." 

"And you?" 

"Everyone."

"I liked it better there when we hated each other for no reason at all," Draco said. 

"I always had a reason to hate you, Malfoy." Draco was about to remonstrate and snap at Harry but he saw by the look on his face that Harry was teasing him, and Draco's sarcastic retort was cut off as Harry leaned in and kissed him. 

Draco couldn't help but kiss Harry back. His mouth was soft and warm on Draco's and Draco wanted more. He pulled Harry in and slid his tongue into his mouth. The bed shifted under Draco as Harry moved closer pressing his body to Draco. 

Draco's head began to feel light and happy. Harry's mouth, with the hint of sugary milk, was intoxicating. He didn't just let Harry suck on lower lip, swipe his tongue along his, lower his mouth to his jaw and neck. He joined Harry and encouraged every action. Pulling him close, groaning with the feel of Harry's wet kisses on his flesh. Before Draco knew it he was leaning back, pulling Harry on top of him. 

Harry straddled Draco's hips and ground himself against them as he returned his mouth to Draco's and kissed him long and hard. Through Potter's jeans, Draco could feel he was hard as a rock and Draco wanted him to grind on him again. Wanted to feel their erections rub together over and over again until he came. So what that he had just had this suit cleaned? 

But Harry removed his mouth from Draco's, continued down his neck again, brought his hand to Draco's tie and began to undo it. 

"What are you doing?" Draco asked breathlessly. 

"I want to suck on your collarbones," Harry replied, not stopping. 

Collarbones? Draco was about to reply but then his tie was gone and his top two buttons were undone and Harry's mouth was on his collarbone. Never before had Draco been kissed or licked there and now he couldn't reckon why because it felt bloody fantastic. Heat rushed Draco's body and at the same time he erupted in goose flesh. It was so peculiar to be so aroused by a kiss in a new place that one's body had no idea what to do besides be desperately turned on. 

He gripped the back of Harry's head as he continued a path downwards, slowly undoing Draco's buttons and gently kissing his chest. 

"What are you doing?" Draco said, sounding only half-aware as Harry's tongue circled his navel. 

"I'm going to suck your cock," Harry said, lifting his head and reaching for Draco's belt. 

Draco felt his eyes go wide in surprise. "You can't...I mean...just..." Draco stammered, trying to find the words. 

"I can," Harry assured him. "I want to. I want to feel my lips wrapped around your dick." 

"Harry, I--" But the words Draco wanted to say were completely lost to him. How could Draco explain to him he was afraid of a blow job? Frotting and hand-jobs, school boy stuff, that is what Draco did. He couldn't explain to Harry the fear of teeth down there. The memories of Greyback looking at Draco and lewdly swiping his tongue across his stained and pointed teeth, desperate to bite Draco everywhere. 

Harry licked along Draco's pleasure trail and once again heat rushed his body. God, Draco wanted it. Wanted to fuck himself between those red soft lips, feel the tongue across the back of his shaft. He had only fantasized about it when he told himself not to be scared. 

As Harry pulled his zipper down, Draco reminded himself who this was and that he could trust Harry. Trust the long fingers pulling his pants down his hips. Trust the mouth that kissed him to the side of his balls, making them draw up. 

"Fuck, yes," Draco groaned, sinking his hands into Harry's hair as Harry wrapped his mouth around the head of Draco's cock. 

It didn't take long. The heat of Harry's mouth, the view of watching his head bob between Draco's legs and the beautiful light coming through the huge window. The room was full of the cloudy sunshine, and, vaguely, Draco understood why Harry liked this place. Before he knew it, his cock was pushing against the back of Harry's throat and Harry's hands were gliding down his balls, and suddenly a finger was in his arse and oh god he was coming. "Fuck, god, fuck yes," Draco cried out, bucking his hips into Harry's face as Harry swallowed around him and then pushed his fingers even deeper into Draco. 

Draco felt warm and languid as Harry moved back up his body and pulled him close. Harry kissed gently behind Draco's ear and rubbed himself against Draco's thigh. "What do you want?" Draco asked, reaching for Harry's buttons. 

"I want to fuck your arse," Harry whispered in Draco's ear. "You're not ready for that though. Are you?" 

Draco wanted to be ready for that. Wanted to give himself over to Harry and their pleasure. He knew could trust Harry. Knew with his gentle mouth and strong hands slowly guiding him, he would be fine. But Harry was also right. It was too much too quickly. Draco shook his head not trusting himself to speak. 

"Was that your first?" Harry asked. 

"Time for that? Yes," Draco admitted. "It was--" 

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Harry whispered. "A mouth around your cock. Hot and wet, very different from a hand. Almost as good as an arse, not quite as tight though. The taste of a cock in your mouth..." Draco groaned, imagining how that would feel, how that would taste, and felt the first signs of re-arousal in his body. 

"I'm supposed to be getting you off," Draco pointed out. 

"Maybe talking dirty to you gets me off," Harry said, thrusting his hips hard to Draco's leg. 

"Let me try, I want to...do--" But exactly what Draco wanted to do he didn't say. He pushed Harry's back to the bed and moved down his body. 

He undid Harry's jeans and began to pull them away, realizing quite quickly Harry didn't have any pants on. "Really, Potter," Draco admonished him. 

"Was hoping you'd stop by," Harry said breathlessly, arching his hips up, desperate for friction on his long, thick, hard cock. 

"Laundry day more like it," Draco said as he wrapped his hand around Harry's cock and began to stroke. Harry's eyes fluttered closed and he bucked up into Draco's touch. 

Draco put himself between Harry's legs, spreading them wide. He lowered himself so that his face was only inches from Harry's cock. "Go –" Draco began to say but Harry's eyes flew open and looked down at Draco. 

"I know, don't worry. I won't," Harry said. And with that Draco opened his mouth and drew a slow, lazy circle around the head of Harry's dick with the tip of his tongue. 

The taste was different, not bad but not as Draco had expected either. Warm and sultry and immediately Draco knew that this is what sex tasted like. He stroked slowly with his hand as he sucked on the head. He pulled back Harry's foreskin and circled his tongue around the crown. Harry groaned and Draco could see Harry's fingers, knuckles white, digging into the mattress. 

Draco licked a long wet path down Harry's shaft, then pulled his head away and stroked Harry faster, the saliva aiding his efforts. Harry bucked up into Draco's hand, desperately pumping his hips again and again. 

Draco touched Harry's balls with his other hand and Harry cried out. "Fuck, I'm going to – god!" With a thrust up, Harry's entire body stiffened and he came hard. Draco continued to stroke him, the hot slick come making it easier as Harry came and came. 

As the last drops pearled to the head of Harry's cock, Draco dropped his mouth and licked them up. Harry's head shot up and his eyes opened wide, meeting Draco's. Draco kept his gaze steady as he slowed his stroke and circled his tongue one last time licking up one last bit of come. 

Harry groaned with pleasure and his head fell back and on to the pillow, fingers gently tangled in Draco's hair. Draco desperately wanted a fag and was sure he had one in his pocket but his coat was nowhere to be seen and he doubted Potter would let him smoke it anyway.

&&&&&&&

Something would have to be done about the rubbish. That would be the first thing. You couldn't walk up to a house, even a magical one hidden amongst Muggles, and smell day old fish and rotting fruit. It was not appealing in the slightest. Draco knew a few simple charms that should take care of it permanently. Only simple if Harry didn't do something stupid like ask too many questions and realize you technically needed a permit from the Ministry first.

The neighbourhood wasn't awful; it was getting better. The Nouveau riche were coming in with their lust for buying town-homes and putting in beech-wood floors and furniture bought from a catalogue. Taste they may not have, but they were at least generally tidy. Besides, Harry wouldn't know better and wouldn't be bothered by that sort. 

Expecting to find Harry waiting for him inside, it surprised Draco to hear his laugh behind him. He turned and saw Harry turning down the street with a little boy merrily trotting at his side. 

Draco hadn't expected that. It was Sunday. Draco didn't have to work and he'd thought that he and Harry would spend the rest of the day together. Draco tried not to be upset about it; it wasn't like he and Harry were – well yes they bloody were. Draco hadn't slept anywhere but Harry's bedsit for over a week. He was sure the can't-fuck-enough phase of their relationship would one day draw to an end and then Draco would have to go back to squatting in houses and flats he was trying to sell. Maybe when that happened, he would be ready to buy a place of his own. Then he wouldn't have to keep lying to Harry and assure him that he really did like that Harry kept the drapes open at all hours, and preferred the heat on all the time like Harry did. Draco's skin felt dry and tight at the thought.

He made sure his expression remained hard as he watched Harry and the interloper make their way towards him. 

"Hey," Harry said with a smile, his cheeks and tip of his nose pink from the frosty air. He was rather adorable and Draco bit the inside of his cheek to remind himself he was annoyed.

"Who is this?" Draco said, raising his brows and looking down at the boy. 

Harry all but rolled his eyes at Draco but replied kindly enough, "Draco, this is Teddy. I think you know who he is. Teddy, this is my friend Draco." Teddy mumbled something as he tried to scoot behind Harry's leg. 

Harry nudged him and cleared his throat loudly. Teddy sighed heavily, removed his very small hand from his pocket and reached it towards Draco with a less mumbled greeting of, "Pleased to meet you." 

"And you," Draco said, giving the hand a firm shake. 

Harry leaned in and quietly said to Draco, "Sorry I didn't warn you this morning. I had completely forgotten it was Sunday." He rubbed Draco affectionately on the arm and smiled softly as he leaned back. 

Draco sniffed, looked to Teddy and said, "Ever seen this house before?" Teddy shook his head and Draco said, "Come on, then. Despite what the deed says, it's actually more your house than Harry's." 

"Really?" Teddy said as he bounded up the steps. "How does the door open?" 

"Here, I'll get that," Harry said, going up the steps exactly as Teddy had done. He took out his wand and the door opened. "Sorry. The house only opens for a few people." 

"What's your plan, then? Sell the house but be on call any time the new owners want to come back home?" Draco said, not taking any care to hide his mocking tone because he was too surprised to be polite. 

"Hill said that once the property had transferred ownership, the magic would shift," Harry replied. 

"Pffft. Shows what he knows. It's likely an old pureblood spell and will take a lot more than a deed being signed to shift. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if it could only be transferred with a death. That's why Sirius Black got the place, because the spell is so ancient it's practically unbreakable." Draco was about to add more but Harry's expression made him shut up quick. He looked confused and angry; he clearly didn't like being told what he didn't know. "Or, you know, it could be simple. Who else can open the house?" 

Harry frowned thoughtfully and said, "There's me. Ron and Hermione can. Er...not all the Order of the Phoenix could." Harry's eyes cut quickly to Teddy, who was trying his best to quietly sneak into the house unobserved, and Harry added quietly, "Remus could too." 

"It could be whom the owner grants entrance to? Even in a passive or emotional way," Draco said, thinking out loud. 

"Right. Let's not worry about it now. We'll sort out the magic later," Harry said, gesturing Draco through the door. 

Draco stepped past Harry as he entered the house and mumbled, "Since you're keeping the place, we won't have to sort it out at all." Harry pinched him on the arse. Draco shot a glare over his shoulder and Harry looked innocently back. 

"Don't touch that," Harry said, not breaking his eye contact with Draco but reaching out to put a firm hand on Teddy's shoulder to keep him from sticking his head into the umbrella stand. 

"It smells like the loo," Teddy said. 

"Likely one of the places the dog who lived here marked," Draco said. 

Harry shook his head at him as he shut the door. "Will the dog jokes ever get old?" 

"Don't know. Reckon it depends if you can get the smell out," Draco replied. "Let's get this horror show over with and start upstairs."

Draco had persuaded Harry to take the house off the market and let Draco give him a couple ideas on fixing it up before he decided to dump it completely. Luckily Draco's persuasive skills – tight trousers, open collar, hip cocked and leaning against the counter – were unmatched and it had been laughably easy to convince Harry. 

They got to the first landing and Teddy stopped, curiously peering into the open door. "Come on, Teddy," Harry said half-way up the next flight of stairs. 

"What's in there?" Teddy replied not moving. 

"It's the drawing room," Draco answered. "We'll get to there." 

Teddy followed reluctantly, his steps pounding on each stair to show his disproval. 

"Let's not go to the top floor," Harry said stopping on the third floor. "I'm not changing anything up there. I'm leaving it as it is."

"Sentimental about your Gryffindor colours?" Draco remembered the over bright scarlet that attacked his eyes when he viewed the house with the other agents. 

The corner of Harry's mouth lifted as he replied, "That room is nice. But I was thinking of the other room. A place to put you when you need a time out." 

"At least someone in the house had taste at some point," Draco replied. "Have it your way. On this floor there are the four bedrooms including the split suite, which you could easily make into one master bedroom." 

"Yeah that room needs a lot of work. Sirius kept Buckbeak in there--" Harry's gaze cut to Draco but Draco hadn't a clue why. "I don't think he cared much for being locked up. Not that there were a lot of others options on where to keep a Hippogriff." 

Draco's started and felt his eyes go wide with surprise. "That...that creature was kept in the house? I should've known what those claw marks were, after what it did to my arm." 

Harry chortled. "Sure. I'll check your body for scars later." 

They continued on the floor looking into the loo and other rooms, Draco showing Harry that the house wasn't bad. It mostly needed items binned or better yet burned; moth eaten rugs, dusty out of date drapes, hideously ugly fixtures. Harry was mostly quiet as they walked through. Nodding his head on occasion, which made Draco feel good. A couple of times he grimaced, which made Draco want to hit him, but as Teddy was following them around it wasn't the time to remind Harry that Draco was the one with taste and a sense of history. 

They walked into the drawing room to see Teddy had already beaten them there. He was hard at work making a fort out of couch cushions and chairs. Harry looked at him and said, "That looks more comfortable than when I stayed here." 

"You stayed in the drawing room?" Draco said lifting his brows. 

"No. The first time, I stayed upstairs. But my first night during the war, I was in here." 

"Then you discovered the Gryffindor room and promptly went there because you enjoy the sense that you're sleeping in an oven?" 

The question was meant as a joke but Harry replied to Draco quite seriously. "Something like that." Harry's expression softened and Draco, who was very good at remembering himself, recognized the expression of someone reliving a memory. 

"And you're fine with selling it and letting someone else completely change it?" Draco's remark earned him a look that said he was this close to going too far. He wasn't in the mood to push Harry. It wasn't a game he could play with children milling around. "So the family tapestry..." Draco said quickly and gestured to the large, aged but still ornate wall hanging. 

They both moved to it. Harry stood with his arms crossed, looking at it, but Draco really focused on it, creating the network in his mind where this one would cross with the Malfoy Family Tree. "You aren't getting rid of this are you?" Draco asked though dead afraid he knew the answer. 

"Hadn't thought about it. Is it even worth anything with all the burn marks?" 

"Was there a fire?" Teddy asked, crawling out from between some cushions towards them. 

"It can be repaired. I know someone," Draco said, replying to Harry's question. 

"I bet you know everyone," Harry said dryly. 

"I've forgotten more important people than you'll ever know." 

"I love when you give me your social CV." 

Teddy poked his finger through one of the burn marks and Draco could picture the entire thing being ripped apart. He reached out and pulled Teddy's hand back. "Careful. This is your family too." 

"A tree?" Teddy asked, looking up at Draco, and his hair suddenly turned green as the leaves of an oak on a summer's day. Draco had forgotten that the boy was like his mother. 

"Nice trick," Draco said. "Yes, it's a family tree. Look, that burn mark, that's where your grandmother should be. Then a line there should lead to your mum. Then you." 

"How come Gran is a burn mark?" 

"Because the owner of this house was bat-shit...er, mental," Draco said, but the inadvertent curse earned him a giggle from Teddy. 

Encouraged, Draco traced his finger upwards, pointing to various notable family members here and there. It was important Teddy know the ability to change wasn't the only thing he'd inherited. He had noble blood in his veins. There were politicians, great duellers, theoreticians, writers, and Draco's favourite when he was a boy, the maker of the very first Nimbus broom. 

"Can I take this home?" Teddy said, looking around as if he could simply unstick tapestry.

"No," Harry said. "We can come back and look at it sometime." 

"Tell me when. I can bring my paints and put my name on it." 

Harry grinned at Draco, who looked horrified back and said soundlessly, "I will fucking kill you."

&&&&&&&

Draco breezed past Harry's secretary’s desk. It was, as usual, unoccupied and Draco vaguely considered that maybe Harry was full of shit and there was no secretary. Draco had yet to see any trace of the woman other than the fact Harry's office wasn't an abomination.

As usual Harry's door was open, but Draco stopped before walking through it and knocked on the frame. 

"Hello?" Harry said from somewhere inside the office. He peeked his head in and saw Harry standing in front of a mirror, buttoning up a very nice light blue shirt that looked suspiciously like one Draco had. 

"You always invite unknown people in when you're half-dressed?" 

Harry's bright eyes met Draco's in the mirror and he puffed a laugh. "Not half-dressed," Harry said, lifting his chin and wincing as he did the top-most button. "See? All done."

Harry walked – much more of a saunter – over to his desk to get his tie, which was draped across the back of his chair. The shirt, Draco had concluded, could not be his; there was no way Harry's shoulders could fit into Draco's shirt but the tie was undoubtedly his. So blue that it was practically black with a delicate white print on it that looked rather random until you examined it closely and saw it was tiny schools of white fish. 

"Nice tie," Draco said and was deeply tempted to flick his wand and bind Harry's hands with the tie till he properly asked to borrow it. It did go well with the shirt, though, and Draco wasn't about to dissuade a good fashion choice on Harry's part. 

"Thanks, found it under my bed." Harry slid the tie around his neck and Draco could imagine the whisper of silk on cotton. He cleared his throat explosively to martial his thoughts. 

"There's been an offer on the house," Draco said stiffly. 

Harry frowned, looking down as he tied his—Draco's—tie. "An offer? How's that possible? Field didn't contact me." 

"It's a client of mine. Since the house is off the market, I came to tell you directly. No need to involve Field."

"All right. What is it?" Harry lifted his chin again as he slid the knot of the tie into place. Draco couldn't take his eyes off Harry's jaw and throat displayed at such an alluring angle. It was difficult to remind himself he was here on business. "Well?" Harry said, lifting his brows as if Draco were slow. 

"Eight hundred thousand."

"Galleons, yes?" 

Draco nodded and said, "Yes." 

"You told me I was an idiot if I accepted anything under a million fifty" 

Draco's ground his teeth together to keep from yelling at Harry. "I did. But you know the condition the house is in and my buyer is interested in doing expansive restorative work, which isn't cheap." 

"The house isn't that bad. I was thinking maybe I did want to keep it." Harry reached for a set of dress robes, which were hanging somewhat carelessly on a coat rack besides the mirror. 

"Please tell me you don't keep those hung there all the time." Draco rubbed his brow; he could feel the beginnings of a headache. 

"That bothers you?" Harry didn't trouble hiding that he'd be rather amused if it did indeed bother Draco. 

"You will have a hole in the back before you know it. You hang dress robes on a hanger, in a wardrobe." Draco thought about Harry's wardrobe, an item that was made of some indeterminate material that Harry claimed he'd bought at a store called IKEA of all things. Perhaps the robes were better kept here. 

Harry moved to Draco, his expression changing to something else completely. "Can we talk about this later?" 

"No. Eight hundred thousand, yes or no?" Draco said, glaring at Harry. 

"I meant the hanging the robes thing. As for the house, I don't know. I might want to keep it." 

"Keep it?" Draco sputtered. "And where are your shoes?" Harry looked down at his stocking-clad feet and smiled. 

"Don't worry I won't embarrass you by forgetting them." He walked over to his sofa, sat down and pulled his shoes from under the table. Even in his office, Potter's clothing was strewn about like he was some teenager. Draco needed to give him a lesson on having everything in one nice tidy spot, perhaps when they went to buy a new wardrobe. "I did some thinking after the other day. The house isn't all bad, I have some nice memories there." 

"You can't suddenly decide to be sentimental about it." Draco's annoyance was growing. 

"Why not?" Harry put one foot up on the table to tie his shoe. "Isn't that what you wanted? Besides giving that up for over a one fifty bellow asking price..." 

"The offer is all gold if that sways you." Harry gave Draco a look; yes, they both knew gold would never sway Harry, ever. Idiot. 

"Field was here yesterday, said he knew someone willing to pay a million." Harry's manner was so casual, Draco was tempted to curse him. But in all fairness a bidding war was something that would produce a level of excitement in Draco that could almost be described as sexual –Draco did love the game of selling houses. Draco couldn't afford anything over nine hundred, not if he wanted gold left over to fix the house, but Draco could not let Harry know that. 

Harry sighed and leaned back on the sofa. "Tell me about the buyer," he said, crossing his arms behind his head. 

"Leave it to you to make a business decision based on emotion," Draco said, walking to sit in the chair close to Harry. "It's a single buyer, a businessman." Draco almost said pureblood but that wouldn't help matters. "He's got a sense of history and sees that the framework of the house is good and he can really make it shine." 

"And he can afford to do that?" Harry's face looked far too innocent asking this question. 

"If you take the offer, he can." 

Harry closed his eyes and said, "Kreacher, during the war, was all right there. Made it home for me, for a bit. And Sirius, he definitely hated it, but he hated a lot of things when he was there. But he made a bit of it his own and I was thinking I could make all of it my own."

Draco could not believe the situation he found himself in. He was here, prepared to give up his inheritance for the wreck of a house, and suddenly Harry was doing exactly what Draco had wanted him to do all along. The universe had an extremely sick sense of humour when it came to Draco's life, and Draco didn't find it funny at all. Draco had to do the only thing he knew would have any effect on Harry. He hated doing it though, he felt like he was exposing his jugular. 

"It's me, Harry, I'm the one who wants to buy the house." 

Harry's eyes shot to Draco full of surprise. "You can't afford the house," were the first words that popped out of Harry's mouth. 

Draco did his best not to feel horribly insulted, but it was difficult. Yes, everyone knew Draco was left poor as a church mouse after the war but having the fact stated so boldly, especially by Harry, hurt. "I am liquidating some assets," Draco said tersely. 

"No, Draco," Harry said, leaning forward and putting his hand on Draco's knee. Draco sat stiffly, staring down at the touch. "I didn't mean to insult you. You can have the house but I mean...I don't...it's--" 

"Spit it out Potter. You've already insulted me so stop trying to be diplomatic." 

"You don't have to rescue the house. If it means that much to you." 

"It means a great deal to me, yes. It is a family home and only recently did I realize how much I wanted it. The Manor, it's big, I don't need it. This house I can do something with." 

"You want to sell your house?" That was a hard question to answer, but Draco did so love that now he had surprised Harry twice today. 

"It's well... As, you know, I don't live there and –" This, damn it all, was much harder than Draco thought it would be. He didn't want to talk about the Manor and why he had decided better to be rid of it. 

"Trading the past for a new beginning?" Harry prompted. Draco's eyes met Harry's and once again, in this same office, Draco was amazed at what Harry knew about Draco and therefore was allowed to go unsaid between them. Draco could have laughed and cried and kissed Harry at the joy he suddenly felt that he would never be asked to explain any of it to him. The worst parts of their past could stay there, forbidden to invade their future. 

"You sure?" Harry asked. "I'll take it off the market and then maybe in a few years when you've done well enough you can buy the place on your own. I'll hold it for you." 

"Do not patronize me," Draco said without any anger. 

"I'm not. I like you at my flat. If you have a place to go home to then you won't be there as much anymore." 

A sudden buzzing filled Draco's ears. Had Harry just said to Draco what he thought he said? "I don't have a place to go home to?" Draco's lips felt numb as he asked the question. 

"It does knock my ego a bit but I didn't think you were over so much because of all the great sex we were having." Harry smiled so shyly that Draco almost forgot he was mortified Harry knew his secret. 

"I didn't...the money I make...I wasn't going to live in some clap-trap. I was waiting to afford something I really wanted. Don't tell anyone." 

"That it wasn't my prowess that made you stay the night?" Harry said with a laugh. "Never." 

"Shut up, Harry. That could've had something to do with it." Draco's neck and face felt warm. Merlin, his face must look like a sodding tomato.

"As far as I know, that's all it was." 

Draco cleared his throat, trying to ebb another rush of heat in his cheeks. "You're very smug."

"Course I am. I've heard all the filthy noises you make." 

"Not all of them. I've been holding out on you." Draco smoothed his tie and sat up straighter. 

"I've got this bloody dinner to go to," Harry said, adjusting uncomfortably on the sofa. "It's OK if I'm a bit late though." 

"The offer" Draco said inching to the edge of his seat. 

"What?"

"I'm not doing a thing until the deal is done." 

"Nine hundred," Harry replied, gliding his hand up Draco's thigh. 

"Eight hundred twenty." Draco did not believe he just heard his voice crack as he said the number. 

Harry's stroked his thumb on the inside of Draco's thigh. Draco thought about that thumb sliding from between his lips before Harry pressed it into his – "Eight hundred twenty," Harry said, his thumb stopping. "But only if one day I maybe decide I want to live at Grimmauld Place too that you let me buy back half." 

"Half? You'll be lucky if I ever let you leave so much as a cuff-link there."

"You could change your mind one day," Harry said, trying to pull Draco out of his seat. 

"This is a very unfair and unorthodox bargaining technique." This was true but Draco was quite a fan of the technique. It was rather a shame he couldn't do business exclusively with Harry all the time.

Harry licked his lips slowly, then said, "Eight hundred twenty four and you get to bring up the subject of letting me buy half one day." 

"Fine. Let’s go sign the papers now before your mind clears." Draco stood from his chair and acted as if he were about to walk away. 

Harry pulled Draco back and shoved him to the couch. "Not ever changing my mind," Harry said as he slid his body on top of Draco's.

&&&&&&&

Draco pulled his wand out and pointed it at the fountain, turning it on for the first time in years. The water gamboled and trickled from the Italian marble and for a moment Draco felt transported. Back to a time when he would sit on the edge and sail parchment boats he had made across the water.

He continued walking though, past the fountain to go around the house. He looked at the yew bushes, which he would have to tell his mother were being well kept. As well as the flower garden off to the south, which Draco could see had been trimmed back for the coming winter. Draco felt a sense of mourning that he had missed it in all of its bloomed glory this past summer. The scent of English roses and honey suckle still haunted him, though. That is where he slept all those summer nights when sleeping under his own roof had become asphyxiating. 

Draco rounded the back corner of the house, and the lawn sloped down to the stream and gardener's hut bellow. Draco turned his back to those things and sat in the grass facing the house. His eyes were drawn automatically to the windows, his windows, but he counted to make sure. Fourth, fifth, and sixth from the north corner of the house. His room, his house. 

The sun was setting, making the windows look black as night. Draco looked over to the terrace that was off from the kitchen. How many mornings had he had breakfast there? Letting the sun warm him as he dipped his toast in his eggs and pinched more bacon from the platter. 

How many evenings had he seen his parents have a cocktail there? Enjoying the cool shade of a warm summer's day as the sun set on the front of the house. Draco remembered thinking that one day he and his wife would sit together there. 

Wife. Draco laughed. He couldn't have been more than eight when he thought that, surely? Then he laughed more as he thought about Harry and wondered if he could ever convince him that it was time to dress for dinner. 

Draco looked up at the sky. The robin's egg blue was becoming increasingly streaked with an ever-deepening red. 

Draco ached for the days spent playing in the grass, the breakfast outside, hearing his mother's voice echoing down the corridor as she called for him, the smell of his father's library. Draco wondered if he dared go inside, if only to touch the books. Draco's closed his eyes and remembered all this and more. He didn't know for how long, but when he opened his eyes the sky was suffused with nothing but red. The sun's last burst before it sunk for the night. 

Draco knew he didn't dare go inside, not even to see the books. If he wanted them, and he did, they would be removed by the moving company and delivered to his new house. 

Draco could not step into that house ever again. His eyes flicked once more to his windows and he shivered as he saw a shadow cross them. Unfortunately all the memories he had were for him to keep. The good ones, the treasured ones, felt so far away so much so that they seemed to be from not just another life but a life that wasn't even his own.

Draco gathered the good memories in his mind as if he were picking up apples fallen from a tree in the orchard and tucked them away into a safe place. A treasure that was his and no one else could ever touch. He kept them far from the new, fresher, memories. Those memories he wished were someone else's life but he knew they were for him to bear. At first they had seemed crushing, that he was too weak to carry them. But now as he controlled his own life, made his choices, doing what he wanted, it had become better. Over half a decade on, it had become easier to live, with and Draco would continue to move past them. 

Draco stood and dusted the grass from the back of his trousers. The right decision was made. He would live with it now. After all, his ownership of this house had ceased even before it was Draco's name on the deed. 

He walked back around the house to the driveway, his shoes crackling on the gravel. He walked out of the gates, not looking back. 

Harry stood leaning against the wall and straightened when he saw Draco. "All done?" Harry asked as he produced a single cigarette as if from nowhere. Draco's lips couldn't help but quirk slightly.

He reached out and took the proffered item and said, "Yes. Remind me to add the books to my list along with the family tree. I think Teddy might like to see it the next time he's with you." Draco did his best to keep the edge out of his tone and he must have done well as Harry only nodded and moved to walk down the lane together. 

It had come as somewhat of a rude shock to Draco that Teddy didn't spend just some Sundays with Harry, but every Sunday, and very nearly every Saturday too. It was even worse that Teddy was only six, not eight maybe nine like Draco had hoped and thus closer to Hogwarts age. Additionally, Teddy didn't take naps and Harry had laughed at Draco when he suggested it. Saturday days, Draco didn't care about; he worked all day on Saturday. But Saturday nights were terrible, and Draco had stopped going round to Harry's place then. All he wanted by eight o'clock on Saturday, the end of his work week, was a martini and a fuck; not to watch Harry and Teddy fall asleep in front of the telly, watching some god-awful Muggle program like Top Gear. 

Draco looked out of the corner of his eyes at Harry; beautiful skin with each scar that told a story, bright, perfect eyes, and hair, black as slate, that was a complete disaster but Draco loved it anyway. Harry, walking solidly beside him. Some sacrifices, even a Saturday night, were more than worth it. 

Draco could make out the outline of the roof line of the Manor just over the bushes. He could see the chimney stacks standing solidly reaching into the sky. In the dying light the house looked like a black monstrous shadow. Draco stopped to look one more time, cigarette rolling between his thumb and forefinger.

"You all right?" Harry said, touching his hip. 

"Think you'd ever do something like dress for dinner?" Draco said. 

"Dress for dinner? I am dressed." 

Draco didn't roll his eyes but smiled softly at Harry. "No, I meant you put on proper clothes for dinner. Nice ones." 

Harry's reaction was just as Draco had imagined it would be; his expression made it clear that he found the entire idea silly. "If you want –" 

"No," Draco said, his voice soft but talking over Harry. "No, I really don't want. I want what I have now." 

Draco turned his back and allowed the Manor to sink away behind the wall.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment here, or return to [LIVEJOURNAL](http://hd-tropes.livejournal.com/27381.html) to comment ♥


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